For All Seasons
by Abarero
Summary: England's visits to America, throughout each of the four seasons. America/England


**For All Seasons**

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In the winter, America was at his worst. He'd burrow away indoors, surrounding himself with heaters and fireplaces and thick blankets. Sometimes when he'd visit, England found him outside, adding to the already sickening amount of reds and greens and blinking lights.

But usually, England was greeted by America at the door; the younger nation sipping hot cocoa, humming Christmas carols to himself and cloaked in a blanket.

"You've got to be freezing, England," America doted, pulling him inside and smothering him in a hug.

The snowflakes that had accumulated on England's hair and shoulders melted almost instantly, but the outside cold still lingered.

Setting aside his festive mug, America tugged at England's scarf and raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Mistletoe?" England inquired, unsurprised after years of that being the case. America lit up.

"It is a tradition. You like those silly old things, right?"

Casting a fleeting glance upwards towards the sprig of green, England thought that _yes, this tradition is quite all right by me._

"Oh hush," he murmured with a smile.

America grinned, kissing his lips chapped by the winter wind and wrapping England in a warm embrace until the chill of the snow was long gone.

* * *

In the spring, America would pout; his plans and baseball games always getting interrupted by April showers and May storms.

"You probably feel right at home," he whined as they snuggled on the couch during another power outage, "All this stupid rain."

England noted that generally the rain at home wasn't this torrential, even if they did get their fair share of tornadoes. Outside, the wind howled and the thunder boomed, shaking the window panes. America whimpered and muttered something about ghosts. England sighed.

The rain never phased the British nation too much, too used to his own climate to let it ever get to him or bring him down. A flash of lightning threw America into the light for a moment and England caught the full pathetic pout on his face.

"America..." He cleared his throat, feeling around in the pitch dark in the direction he'd just seen the younger nation in. Finally, he found America's face; reaching up and cupping his cheek in his hand.

Leaning close, he whispered his words against America's lips before he claimed them in a kiss.

"Forget the bloody rain. I'm here."

* * *

The summer brought out the best and the worst. America thrived, the sunny days filled with swimming and eating barbeque and traveling being just what he needed after a cold winter and a wet spring. The high temperatures didn't seem to faze him at all, the younger nation just opting to take off his shirt or drink some lemonade if he wanted to cool down.

England, on the other hand, was miserable in the extreme heat. Irritated by the humidity and used to cooler temperatures back home, he was grumpier than usual when visiting America.

"Come on, England. Come outside!" America implored, eying the Brit through the window.

"I'm quite all right in here," England countered, "where it is air conditioned and not pushing near forty Celsius."

America huffed, blowing a puff of air up at his drooping bangs. His hair was slick with sweat and his shirt had been long discarded, but still he argued that outdoors was better.

When England wouldn't budge, America stormed inside to chase him out.

"Pretty please?" He pleaded with the bluest of puppy eyes. "I made us a picnic, England!"

England glanced outside, his eyes catching sight of a checkered cloth and a spread of food lying out under a tree.

"It's in the shade," America added hopefully.

England sighed in resignation. "Oh I suppose."

America kissed him in excitement, all summer heat and tasting like lemonade. And as he dragged England outside, the Brit decided that perhaps summer wasn't _all_ that bad.

* * *

The autumn was when they both were the happiest. The light chill wasn't enough to keep America from pumpkin patches, hayrides and Halloween festivities. And England was thankful for a decrease in the heat, the cooler temperatures easily thwarted by a warm cup of tea if they got a little too nippy.

England also had grown to love the peaceful walks they took on autumn days; colored leaves falling around them and loud children back in school. If he was certain no one was watching, he'd slip his hand into America's; the touched expression he got in return a split-second gift before America's timid smile broke into a wide grin.

"You've got a leaf in your hair," America mumbled, reaching down to dislodge it.

England huffed; attributing his pinking cheeks to the rustle of cold wind. When he glanced back up, he noticed a childish gleam in America's eyes.

"What are yooo--" His words were cut off as the younger nation clasped his hand tighter and raced forward with him in tow.

"Leaf pile, England!" America excitedly pointed, acting like he was over two-hundred going on _eight_.

"Don't. You. Dare," England bit out. But America's strength and exuberance didn't relent, propelling them both into the colorful heap. As they impacted, the multicolored array of leaves fluttered up into the air. America laughed.

"Idiot," The Brit muttered, but a smile tugged at his lips.

"You love it," America retorted, rolling beside him and ruffling his hair.

"Stop it, you git!"

England tried to swat him away, but only managed to displace more leaves; their vibrant shapes becoming airborne again at the slightest touch. One leaf settled in America's hair and unthinkingly, England reached up to remove it.

But his hand lingered a moment too long and England found himself leaning forward to kiss America.

Another rustle of wind rained leaves down upon them, several settling on their heads and shoulders. But at that moment in time, autumn leaves were the least of their concerns.

THE END.


End file.
